


Half Light

by BanditLemur



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Eventual Romance, F/M, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, The Deathly Hallows
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:08:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24249322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BanditLemur/pseuds/BanditLemur
Summary: When Hermione Granger planned to go on the run with her best friends she did not expect to end up being on the run with Draco Malfoy. When Draco apparates her away from the Manor, betraying The Dark Lord, they find survival may be more likely if they stick together.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 5
Kudos: 53





	1. 1

Chapter 1

I’ve felt white hot pain before. The curse that Dolohov had once riddled my body with was all consuming. It’s a timeless pain, one that in the moment of its infliction you feel the agony will never cease and when it doesn’t and you cannot ease it you begin to exist with it. My thoughts begin to grow beyond it. How can I even string together a coherent thought with this agony rippling through my body? Disassociation. My body is trying to survive. I cannot psychically protect myself so my mind is doing the best it can. I’m sure it’s a wasted effort, I don’t see how I can get myself out of this one.

“How’d you do it? How did a mudblood get into my vault?” the hissing whisper of her voice so quiet yet so loud draws me back to the present. Her thighs are anchored around my waist, pinning me down and her elbows press down heavily just above my own, immobilising my arms. “How’d you do it?!” there’s no whisper to her voice this time. I try to pull back at the shrill of it but I have nowhere to go. 

“I didn’t I swear,’ the words tumble from my mouth around a sob I can’t hold back, “I swear it just appeared.”

“Appeared?” her voice is a whisper again, almost sounding dumbstruck. “Appeared?!” the shrill in her voice returns and she moves her hand to my jaw, her nails dig into my face as she turn my head so that my eyes can meet hers. Her eyes are crazed, dark and wide. “Do you think I’m daft? Gullible like your friends? A fool?” her head shakes from side to side like a rattle, she’s in a frenzy.

I don’t know how I could ever feel more fear than I did a few seconds ago but I do. This woman, this crazy, violent, sadistic woman is so unhinged. Not only that but her focus seems unbreakable. Her focus is me. I know there are other people in the room, I saw them. Does an audience drive her? Is this a show for them or is she truly this hysterical? Is she making her sister proud? Showing her brother-in-law just how ruthless the bloodline he chose to merge his family lineage with is? Is she teaching her nephew the way it’s done? Her obedient audience is standing mere meters from me, observing this predator in her natural environment. Does he enjoy this? Does Draco Malfoy enjoy my violent demise? It must be satisfying seeing the girl he never ceased to despise be tortured. A symbolic retribution against not only the girl who gave him a well deserving punch in the face but her friends who were ever at ends with him or the order that shunned his pure beliefs and made every attempt to stop and stunt his regal birth right and lifestyle. Does he feel vindicated of this? Do any of them need vindication or does my blood truly justify all of this?

The searing pain returns tenfold as Bellatrix presses the hot blade back into the flesh of my arm. A scream rips from my throat but no matter how loud or long I scream it doesn’t satiate her or dull the white, hot burn. She’s slow and meticulous with her movements. You’d think someone with such craze and frenzy in their eyes would be wild and slashing but no, she takes her time carving my flesh.

I can faintly hear Ron’s yells meeting my screams. My entire being years for his warm embrace I’d only felt mere hours ago. A moment of privacy by the lake at the Lovegood’s residence had allowed him to pull me close and place a quick kiss on my cheek. We had both flushed and giggled, giddy with the excitement of what could be. We were hopeful of the future for a few misguided moments. How foolish but how beautiful that fleeting feeling that swelled inside my chest and lightened my steps was.

Bellatrix pulls back giggling. A hacking cackle fights it way past the giggles and she snorts with pure joy. She looks at my arm with wonder. Her chest heaves and her eyes gleam.

“Mudblood.” I tilt my head to the side, the ugly word she read off of my skin bleeds warm, red streaks from the deep wounds. She seems to ponder, “Let’s underline it for emphasis.” A smiled gleams on her face and she leans back in with the blade in hand.

Not again. I can’t do this again. With a wave of adrenaline I was sure I had depleted earlier I buck my hips. My legs thrash and kick and my free hand roots itself in her thick hair with an iron grip and yanks her head sideways. She tumbles off me as she tries to balance herself, a surprised yelp escapes her.

She’s quick to get to her feet and straighten herself, wand pointed and dagger discarded besides me. I scramble backwards, pulling the dagger underneath myself seemingly unnoticed. I can see the steady figures of others in my peripheral but don’t dare to look away from Bellatrix.

“So the little lioness still has some fight in her does she? But what’s the point? Where’s your wand mudblood?” Her eyes dart the those in her audience. I dare to follow her gaze. Draco stands tall, but his hard eyes don’t meet mine, they seem focused just above my head. He shuffles though, aware the attention has been placed upon him. I see it. Held tightly in his grasp is my wand and my bag. His other hand holds his own. The light wood of my wand contrasts with the darkness of his. How useless I feel without it. His eyes snapping over to Bellatrix redirect my attention.

Her arm is raised, a curse on her lips and her eyes a set stead-fast on me, “Crucio.” I feel it before I register it. Agony. Pure torture. Every nerve ending inside me ignites and I can feel myself convulsing and arching off of the floor as though I’m trying to get away from the source of it. And then it stops.

My tears started flowing freely down my cheeks long ago. My head lulls back and forth, my vision is dazed and unfocussed as I just try to breath. Spasms course through me, flashing like those dazzling Christmas lights my father use to adorn the house with. I wish for that pull at my consciousness that could offer me peace but no such pull arrives.

“Crucio!”

Again and again she brings me to the what surely has to be the edge of my capability to handle such pain and torment on my body. Is this it? Am I to be like Nevilles parents? Please no. How long does it take for my mind to go? I can hear her panting, the heavy gulps of air she draws in are similar to my own but this seems to energise her.

“Draco, have a turn.” She beckons to Draco with sweetness and excitement in her voice. I slump to my side and make out the outline of Draco and his parents but my vision wont focus.

“Bella…” it’s his mother speaking now, her tone is low yet seems to quiver. I can see her form overlap with Draco’s, she’s stepping in front of him.

“Oh come on Cissy, let him have some fun!”

“The Dark Lord did not instruct us to have fun Bella,” Draco’s mother hisses back. I don’t get the sense that she has any authority, she’s trying to reason with Bellatrix.

“The Dark Lord will reward us Cissy! Let Draco share in that.”

My vision begins to come too and just like turning a lens on a camera Draco comes into focus. The months since I last saw him seemed to have thinned him even more. He was always on the lean side but the dark, sunken circles under his eyes only made his white blonde hair more stark and his hollowed cheeks match those of Harrys after months on the run. A shift in movement bring my eyes to Lucius. He too looks a little worse for wear, still dressed well and put together but the spattered stubble and matching dark circles to those of his son betrays him. It was his arm moving that caught my attention, he moves it to place is on Draco’s middle back. A pause. Lucius looks at his wife for a moment. She takes a deep inhale, holding it and Lucius pushes Draco forward.

Draco stumbles, his eyes drawing wide with an incredulous look. He turns his head to look at Lucius who merely nodds at Draco. Then his eyes meet mine.

“Come on Draco, do it!” Bellatrix throws her arms around, impatient like a child.

He lifts the dark, wooden wand at me and again, I find myself scrambling backwards. The protest my body offers to the movements is heavy. My hand scrambles under my back landing on the offending blade that earlier sliced through my skin with such ease. I clutch it under my body.

His hand shakes, the wand unsteady in his grasp. Without a word he jerks his wand upwards. My body follows, I’m pulled upright but not bearing my weight. He keeps his wand trained on me and stalks forwards. Bellatrix cackles and steps back to Draco’s mother, grasping her shoulders and shaking her. Slowly, so slowly he pulls me towards him with his wand. The possibilities of what he could do to me flitter through my mind. He wouldn’t kill me would he? Maybe he would, maybe he knows what more they could still do to me and has enough humanity left in him to spare me the extra pain. Or does he want me to suffer? Is he that vindictive?

My body reaches him, mere inches from touching. I feel bound, the dagger is still in my grasp but my arms won’t move. He looks me up and down and smirks before looking back at Bellatrix.

“Pretty enough for a mudblood isn’t she Draco? Have your turn with her before the rest of them do.” Bellatrix encourages him and a sharp, short gasp escapes Draco’s mother.

It had crossed my mind that some may want to inflict more than just pain on me if I was captured. To claim dominance on the most sinister and repulsive wait I could imagine. The flinch of his hand as it lands on the skin of my arm tells me he wouldn’t. He’s so repulsed by me that his body instinctively tried to pull away from merely touching me. I can’t say I feel hurt by the rejection. His jaw tenses as he fights through his repulsion and places a hand firmly on each of my shoulders, pulling me close.

Our eyes meet intensely. _Please. Please don’t hurt me anymore._ I can’t figure out what his say, I can’t read him. His eyes are a dull grey but they don’t tell me anything, they just bore into mine.

“You’ll forgive me for wanting some privacy.” The first words, spoken flatly, make me feel as though the floor as fallen from beneath me even though his spell still holds me. I can literally feel the blood drain from my face. Usually I’m one to feel blood flush my cheek red with embarrassment but this, this is utter dread.

Bellatrix cackles with pure joy, her teeth taking up far too much of her face. “That’s your boy Lucius!” she hangs of Draco’s mothers shoulder who fails to mirror her husband’s stoic front but before I can decide what it is that her face is saying I feel that familiar pull in my stomach of apparition.

* * *

My feet hit the ground, collapsing under the shock of my weight. I throw my hands down, dropping the blade to break my fall. Wet, freezing snow shocks my aching body. I look around, quickly spotting Draco in his dark attire against the snow. He must’ve landed almost as gracelessly as I did as he is slowly pushing himself to his feet, brushing the snow from his tailored pants.

I feel the wild flutter in my chest that I’ve felt all to many times before. Flight or fight. I have no wand and I doubt my legs could carry me more than a few metre let alone out run Draco. I grasp the dagger that lay in the snow next to me, my only chance is to fight.

Against all odds I push myself to my feet, using the momentum to launch at the filthy blonde before he rights himself. I land against his chest, pushing him backward until he stumbles again a tree. The dagger feels light in my grasp as I push it against his throat.

“Give me my wand!” My voice is coarse and his eye widen as he processes what is happening. “Give me my wand!” I don’t wait for a response before I yell it at him a second time.

“Wait-“

“Don’t touch me! I’ll kill you before you touch me” I press the blade harder against his exposed skin. I’ll die before he has the chance to defile my body.

“Granger, stop!” he throws his hands up and before my sluggish body can reacts he shoves my arms down and knocks the dagger from my grip, flinging it out of reach.

He pins my arms and I thrash. Please believe me, I tried to get him off of me. He’s too strong, or maybe I’m too weak.

“Get off me! Get off me! Get off me!” my repetitive yelling drowns out his words as he pins me to the ground, my being head the only part I can move thrashes wildly.

“Granger stop! I’m not hurting you” his voice is louder now, cutting through my shouts. What did he say? I pause, stupefied by what I just heard. “I’m not going to hurt you,” his voice is softer now but still firm, “It’s ok. You’re ok. I’m not going to hurt you,” he speaks gently now, relaxing his grip on me, “you’re safe.”

I’m what? I look around, a vast span of snow, spatted by the odd dark wood of bare trees surrounds us. Where are we? Then it clicks. I’m not there. No longer in that grand, dark room at that witches feet.

“Safe?” I repeat his final word to me.

Draco nods, not looking away from my gaze, “Safe.”

My breath comes in great gasps, I can’t fill my lungs. I feel like I’m breathing in more than I’m exhaling yet it catches in my throat. My hands flail, trying to find something to grab, to ground me, but the snow crumbles through my fingers with each grasp I try to take. My hands find solidity in Draco’s arms, my fingers pull desperately at his dark coat. 

“Safe. You’re safe,” he repeats it over and over, a softness to his tone that I never imagined possible.

Safe. He says I’m safe. Safe. My breathing slowly calms, oxygen meeting my lungs once again. Lethargy overwhelms me, my aching body can’t go on any longer and my hands lose their grip on his sleeves as my body falls back onto the cold snow, icing my suffering body. His hand catches the back of my head before it can thump into the snow like the rest of me. My failing vision registers him shrugging out of his coat before I feel a softness under my head he lowers in back down. I hardly register the wand pointed at me before I feel my body begin to warm. I close my eyes and breathe. His footsteps draw my eyes open once more and when my gaze finds him, all I can see is the back of his figure as he walks away from me, leaving me in the snow.


	2. 2

Chapter 2

The familiar discomfort of the camp bed greets my rousing body. The blanket exposes my bare arms making me shiver. Any intention to pull it up over myself is stifled by the fiery burn that accompanies my first attempt at movement. What on earth could caused such a pain?  
“Harry?” I call out. Ron would be fast asleep still, though the weariness of our new life on the run has kept him from finding sleep easily it would be shocking if an earthquake could wake him ones sleep finally lets him rest. “Harry?” I arch my neck despise the protest in my muscles. I can’t see him in the small tent.  
I lay my head back down, the ache fading from my relaxed muscles. It’s oddly quiet in here. Ron’s snores don’t fill the tent as usual, maybes he has finally cast a silencing charm that can last through his sleep. The grumble in my stomach holds more sway than the soreness rocking through me. A bolt of pain shooting through my arm as I try to bear my weight on it suspends my breakfast plans. I drop to my side, arm splayed out in front of me. Red, raw, angry flesh glares back at me. Dark, dried blood stains my skin but the wound still weeps. I blink. I blink again. Is that my arm? I make another attempt at moving is and the pain doesn’t hesitate in its return. That’s definitely my arm, my torn skin. I tentatively try to touch the wound with my other hand, hissing at the tenderness I feel. I pull myself up to get a better look at it. Mudblood. A moment of confused panic hits me before the flood gates open.  
A sob catches in my throat, choking me momentarily before breaking from me. A tidal wave of everything that happened at the manor wracks my entire being. The torment, the torture, the pain. Ron and Harry. What happened to them? Surely they can’t be dead, I’d feel it wouldn’t I? Somewhere, something inside me would tell me if they were dead. But what if they are? I’d be in this alone. I can’t destroy the horcruxes alone let alone have any chance against Voldemort. I only just got out of the manner alive, if it wasn’t for Dra- no. No I cannot believe it. Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy saved me? But then he just left me here. I don’t even know where here is. I look around again, the familiar tent looks as though it did the last time the boys and I packed it up. I didn’t set it up though, the last thing I remember was the cold of the snow on my back and the heat of a warming charm blossoming over my hands.  
If I didn’t set the tent up then who did? I can’t help but doubt that Draco did. I watched him walk off from me and the all too fresh memory of his flinching touch brings doubt that he could fathom carrying me to a bed. I mean he could have levitated me but no, I don’t think that Malfoy set up my tent and tucked me into bed. Could it be that Ron and Harry got away from the manor and found me? The question of how they could have escaped halts my narrative. If it wasn’t for Draco I’m certain I wouldn’t have made it out of the manor. Unless Draco went back for them but even considering the mere thought seems ludicrous. Who else could have found me and thought to not only go through my bag but set up the tent in it and tuck me in? More importantly, what’s to stop someone from wondering into the camp? Snatchers are everywhere and without the wards, I’m a sitting duck.  
Despite my bodies protest I am able to slowly pull myself to my feet and find a somewhat steady balance. Slow steps carry me to the opening of the tent. A quick pat down confirms that my wand is not on my body and as my eyes scan the inside of the tent I can’t spot it anywhere. The crisp, cool air that greets me at the opening of the tent makes my lungs protest and tighten.  
I may as well face whatever or whoever it is that’s out there now. Best case scenario would be Ron and Harry, sitting out on the camp chairs, radio chattering away. Yet I don’t hear the irking chatter and static of Ron’s radio. My second choice would be someone from The Order, Fred and George, maybe Remus or Tonks, just someone I know and trust. Worst case scenario would be a death eater, resting me up to give me enough energy so that they can break be down all over again.  
The camp chair is there, a bit ragged and weather worn but neither of my best friends are seated in it. Well, no one is seated in it. The other chair lay folded on the ground next to it suggesting that I’m only in the company of one other. Snow crunching under someone’s steps from around the side of the tent bring a quick end to my guessing game.  
Their nose and ears are flushed pink from the cold, pale skin contrasts starkly with the dark attire they so often adorn their forever rigid body with. The trademark white-blonde hair is windblown, haphazardly sticking up in some areas and lying flat against his skin in others; so far does it look from the immaculately groomed head of hair I’m so use to despairing. Draco Malfoy. His steps falter when he catches sight of me and I can see his chest rise as he takes in a long, deep breath; I can almost feel it tighten myself.  
“What are you doing here? You left me on the ground.” The words aren’t aggressive but assertive. My mind runs wild and untangling them is futile when I can’t find the ends to the knotted ball of string that is my thoughts.  
“Obviously, I didn’t.” he looks down at me, condensation in his words and a grimace beginning to warp his face.  
His wand is in his grasp, held relaxed by his side. I peer around the tent, “What were you just doing?” adrenaline courses through me, I can’t rule him out as threat.  
His eyes follow mine, looking over his shoulder into the snowy forest, “re-setting some wards,” he sounds incredulous, as though my questions are absurd.  
“For what?” my tone picks up, defensive in response to his.  
“So no one finds us,” he throws his arms out, “honestly Granger, you’re supposed to be the smart one, what else are wards for?”  
I bring my hands to my face, holding them over my mouth to stop more questions from tumbling out before I can process any of this. The why is what genuinely stumps me. Why on earth is he doing this? And what? What could he possibly want?  
“Why were you there?” the question bursts loudly from his lips, almost shocking himself and startling me, “Why were you at my house?” desperation for an answer floods his eyes and his hands seem to shake.  
“Why was I there? Honestly, what type of question is that? It’s the last place I wanted to be. What makes you think for even a second that I chose to be there?” it’s my turn to look incredulously at him.  
“Then why did you get caught?” he shakes his head, accusation in lacing his words as he fists his blonde locks.  
“Because a half a dozen snatchers chased me down! Do you think I planned on it?” My voice raises to meet his.  
“You should’ve been more careful then!” he steps towards me, “look what you’ve done now” an arm motions to the scenery around us, “really fucked things up haven’t you?”  
“Look at what I’ve done? You bought me here Malfoy, please tell me what I have done!” I shove my finger into my chest, pointing to myself and wincing in the process. The empty woods echo our yells.  
He paces in a circle, head down with is hair grasped in his hands again. Hard, grey eyes meet mine before he yells out into forest, torment clear on his face. Turning back to me he sputters for a moment, “You don’t get it do you? I’m fucked. I’m right fucked and now I have nowhere to go” his voice peters off to a quiet almost whine.  
“Would you get over yourself Malfoy?!” there’s no empathy in sight from me, “I’ve had nowhere to go for months, and you want to whine about it after a few hours without your precious manor and house elves cooking for you and all your privilege? I can count the times on one hand that I haven’t still felt hunger after a meal or haven’t woken up every half hour in my sleep of have gone a day without hearing the name of someone I know be read out in the list of deaths!” I lean towards him, my face screw up at the boy I’ve hated for all these years who hasn’t seemed to change one bit.  
“Well if you hadn’t gotten caught I wouldn’t have had to save you Granger!” he mimics my stance, leaning towards me and spitting my name, “You did this. You put me here.” His fingers point at me then at the ground, literally referencing the land we stand on.  
It’s my turn to pull at my hair, he is truly unbelievable and utterly infuriating, “I didn’t do shit Malfoy! You chose to apparate me out of there, that’s on you! You made that choice.”  
“It wasn’t a choice!” spit flies from his mouth and he screams back at me.  
“You could have left me there, you didn’t have to help me Malfoy. It was a choice and you made it!”  
“I couldn’t leave you there”  
“Why not?”  
“I just-” a switch seems to be flicked and he changes topic, “fuck… my parents.” His body slumps momentarily, “Don’t you see what I’ve done? They’re going to torture them, kill them maybe. I’ve betrayed him because of you!” cracks appear in his voice and his pitch become unsteady, “they’re going kill her Granger, they’ll kill my mother” his body half crumbles into a crouch and his eyes plead with me for something that I don’t know how to give.  
I pause and just stare at him. My chest heaves from yelling and every muscle in my being is tense. An exhale takes with it the tension in my body. Another exhale and I find myself on the ground, my head pressed against the chair and my stare fixed on the white snow. Malfoy’s bewildered, quick breaths begin to slow and turn into heavy huffs like my own. We both seem to pause, lingering in this moment of not being able to begin processing the fuck just happened, what has happened and what actually is happening. The wind blows and the trees respond, swaying their branches. Somehow the world continues to move on around us.

***

The silence spans for longer than I could guess. It’s not an uncomfortable or an awkward silence but more like a numb silence. It’s silence fuelled by genuine, internal shock. I haven’t looked at him again. My stare hasn’t moved from the too white snow on the ground and I haven’t heard a shuffle from him to suggest he has moved an inch either.  
“You’ve been asleep for a long time.” I don’t respond to him for a long moment, the cogs in my brain slowly, achingly beginning to turn and process his simple statement.  
“How long?” my eyes remain on the snow, no energy in my words.  
“About two days, you probably should eat. I imagine you might be hungry.” The hunger that motivated me to move in the first place is long forgotten. My stomach is no longer rumbling and growling. I shake my head in response, earning a sigh from him. I can hear him push up to his feet and trudge inside the tent, presumably giving up on the lack of conversation.  
A packet of biscuits lands on the snow next to me, already opened with the first one missing. I take them, my numb fingers fumbling with the packet and pulling out a biscuit before shoving it, gracelessly into my mouth. Another object falls to the snow in front of me. My wand. I stare at it for a brief moment before snatching it up. I lift my head to look at him, he’s seated himself in the camp chair, but not before opening and setting the other one out. I accepts the invitation that came with the gesture and take a seat opposite him.  
He looks at me, again being the first to break the silence, “I wasn’t going to keep it from you. I told you I’m not going to hurt you, you probably know how to survive out here better than I do anyway.” He shrugs, the side of his mouth pulling up in an awkward manner that isn’t a smile but nor is it a frown. I open my mouth but words don’t seem to come. “I didn’t want to touch it,” he nod towards my arm and a scowl pulls at my lips.  
Of course he wouldn’t want to get near my filthy blood, heaven forbid it tarnishes him and taints his purity.  
He shakes his head at me, opening his mouth then closing it again, his lips forming a hard line, “I didn’t mean it like that-”  
“Like what?” I cut him off, ready to call him out on his ridiculous superiority complex.  
“I think the dagger was cursed… I’m almost certain the dagger was cursed,” I stare, waiting for him to elaborate, “If you try to heal it, I think the curse will react and make it scar. Well I think I will scar regardless but if you heal it, the scarring might be quite grotesque looking.” He doesn’t speak as smoothly as I’ve come to expect from him over the years, his sentences aren’t perfectly structured and lack his ability to offer precisely what he has to say in as little words as possible. He jumbles his words and backtracks on what he says. “It’s your choice though.” His eye contact is sporadic and he shrugs nonchalantly as though indicating he is done talking.  
I look down at the wound, the ugly mess shocking me all over again. I can only imagine the looks of pity I would get from everyone at The Order, the averted glances and uncomfortable tension if I ever dared to wear short sleeves again.  
“So what do I do? Just bleed all over the place?” it continues to ooze blood and if Draco is telling the truth then it’s been a couple of days since it was inflicted at the wound is yet to dry.  
“You could wrap it in a bandage.” The stark obviousness of his response almost makes me roll my eyes at myself, I really need to stop acting like a fool and think for myself.  
I sit there for a moment, unsure if I should excuse myself to clean up. The silence doesn’t feel comfortable though, there’s more to be said. Talking like this with Draco is otherworldly. Never have I talked with him, just talked. Not that I would call this just talking. Just talking would be more casual, more relaxed and light hearted.  
“Do you think they’re alive?” I dread asking the question but I have to.  
He sighs and shakes his head. Not to say no but rather to say he doesn’t know.  
“Do you think there’s at least a chance?” I press him for something, anything.  
“Granger I-” he exhales “I don’t know.”  
“Please, you have to have an idea, could they have escaped?” I just need a slither of hope, something tiny, minuscule even, to hold onto.  
“Do you think you could have escaped?” I look around us, I did escape didn’t I? “Without me.” he adds. My shoulders collapse inwards and I brace me elbows on my knees. “I’m not saying there’s no chance Granger, honestly, I think Potter has gotten out of more than one situation where the odds were profoundly stacked against him. I’m just trying to be realistic.” He wrings his hands together, his words are matter of fact but he delivers them kindly. “Asking what if isn’t going to get us anywhere though is it?” I know he’s right but I cant help but question it over and over again. “We need to focus on what’s next.” He’s logical and guides the conversation as I normally would with Ron and Harry.  
“I don’t know what’s next” my response is lacklustre, “we never really had plan or knew what was next.”  
“Well, what were you actually doing with them? Surely you had a plan right? Some sort of direction?” his prying unnerves me and I narrow my eyes at him.  
“What outcome do you want from this Draco? Whose side are you on?” sure he may have saved me but his track record isn’t exactly exemplary.  
He doesn’t hesitate in his response “Not his side.” I wait for him to continue, to elaborate. He ponders for a moment, “What other side is there for me though? Your people would never accept me, not now, not when we all know stakes are this high. I don’t have a side, I’m just not on his side.” He nods as though confirming he has said what he needed to say.  
“Would you go against them though? Would you fight?” I want to know. I want to know if he would take up arms against Voldemort or if he wants to try and hide away.  
“Is it my responsibility to?” he questions me.  
“Is it anyone’s responsibility to?” I shoot back, “if you remain neutral in a situation of injustice, you are choosing the side of the oppressor” his brow furrows in thought, “are you neutral Draco?”  
There’s a painful pause.  
“No.” His voice shakes. I can see the realisation in him, he has a side and he knows it.  
“I don’t quite trust you,” I’m flat, honest with my words and he nods, “you’ve really got a damning track record,” he nods again, “seriously, some of the things you’ve done. They blatantly-“  
“I get it Granger.” He cuts me off, pinching the bridge of his nose.  
“Do you though?” I tilt my head.  
“Yes.” He pulls his hand away and meets my stare. I believe him. I think.  
I try to fight the slight smile pulling at the corner of my lips, I may never have verbalised it but something always told me there was more to him. I’m glad it seems I was right.  
“I don’t know what to do next without knowing what’s happened to Ron and Harry,” I continue our previous conversation, “if they are alive and escaped, I don’t know where they could be or what they could be doing. I don’t know how I could plan around them.” I don’t want to consider the alternative but I have to, “and if they’re still there, at the manor, then I guess I should be asking you how to get them out.”  
The look on his face isn’t promising “You can’t. Not even with my help. I mean I’ve been gone for days and never returned with you. I think they’ve put two and two together by now,” I try to interject but he continues, “they would have revoked my ability to apparate. sure I know the layout of the place but it doesn’t mean anything if we’d be dead before we cross the wards. Besides, it would be stupid to kill ourselves on a guess that they’re there. They could have been moved or…” he motions his head to fill in the blank word. Dead.  
I want to argue. I want to fight with him until he admits that there is a way but my gut tells me he’s telling the truth. He truly believes the manor is impenetrable and I’m sure he has more insight that I do.  
“Maybe you need to find out if they’re ok?” he seems uncomfortable offering a suggestion. “Couldn’t you ask someone in your order? I mean if he did it,” I know he’s alluding to if Voldemort has killed Harry, “then the entire wizarding population would know by now. All you would have to do is go to Diagon Alley and it’d be pretty bloody obvious wouldn’t it?” he may be practical but gosh he also makes it sound so simple.  
“Diagon Alley would be too dangerous,” I shake my head. I don’t think he understands the risk that we constantly face on our side of the war, “and The Order, well, they wouldn’t have even known we were captured. If Ron and Harry have escaped they might not even know about it. Besides… I just-” I don’t know how to explain what I’m thinking. What I’m feeling. “I can’t go back. Not if they’re dead. I can’t.” my eyes begin to sting at the thought of facing The Order, the thought of Molly and Ginny and Remus and all their faces. I can’t return, and though I may not be able to really articulate all the reasons why I just know that I cant. Not now. Not yet.  
Draco looks at me uncomfortably. He looks cramped and unsure of how to respond to my emotions. I take an ugly sniff and wipe my eyes.  
“We needs to move.” The practical part of my brain seems to turn back on.  
“What? Why?” He stands up as I do, though more elegantly as I hiss from the protest in my bones.  
“We just do, it’s not safe to stay in one spot for too long and we’ve been here for a few days already. If you could dismantle the tent, I’ll clean myself up and we’ll move on” he doesn’t move as if waiting for something else, “ten minutes and we’re leaving.” I get a nod and he begins cleaning and packing down the site.  
It’s unspoken, but I seems as though we are sticking together for the next night and day at least. Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy, what an unlikely pairing. Merlin would be rolling in his grave, as would everyone of Draco’s ancestors I’m sure.  
I conjure some water in a bowl and transfigure the jumper I was wearing into cloth. Scooping up some white snow I press it too my wound and hiss at the nauseating pain. I’ve decided from what Draco said that it may be best not to use any magic on the wound so I opt for using snow to try to numb the site as much as I can to allow me to clean it with as little pain possible. After wiping the dried blood off with a rag, the starkness of the red, swollen skin and the dark wound against my arm is startling. It looks truly gruesome.  
Draco has placed my beaded bag on the ground nearby but seems to be purposely avoiding me. I think he’s uncomfortable about it. A bottle of fire whiskey accios’ into my hand and I physically shake my body out, trying to prepare myself for what’s to come. A string of choice words spill from my mouth that would have made Molly Weasley faint and I can see Draco do a double take at them when I pour the burning liquid over the wound. I don’t want an infection but holy hippogriffs does it burn like nothing else. The bandage is secured in place as fast as I can wrap it, hoping an out of sight, out of mind mentality will work in diminishing the pain. It doesn’t.  
Draco stands in front of me, beaded bag in his hand and I’m unsure of how to proceed.  
“I’ll apparate us somewhere secluded like this that I know of. As soon as we get there I will set of the wards, you should listen to see if there’s any you may not have thought of so you can set them yourself in the future.” I explain what the process is that I’d done dozens of times with the boys and Draco nods, listening intently. “Ok.” I say and nod, confirming that I’ve said what I need to.  
I reach to take Draco's hand and apparate. The flinch from my touch is unmistakably obvious but he corrects himself quickly and grasps my hand. I don’t allow myself the time to acknowledge the pang I feel from his response to me that wasn’t there the last time he flinched away from me before I apparate us away from the snowy forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a turnaround time! Please don't expect updates to be this regular, as I said, I hope to update every week of two but I've had a few days off so I finished this chapter. Don't get too comfortable, there’s still a many bumps in the road for these two!  
> Thanks for reading and I would love to read what you think so far!


	3. Chapter 3

He releases my hand before either of us are even steady on our feet. It’s always harder to remain well balanced when apparating with someone else. Especially if you’re not the one doing the apparating. He shoves his hands in his pockets, holding his arms tight to his body. He stands still for a moment, not seemingly doing or thinking anything until he begins to look around at our surroundings.

“Where are we?” It’s short and to the point.

“In a field. My mother use to love coming here when its warmer and seeing the bright flowers covering the grounds.” I look around, the tall, dried out, brown stems of what would’ve been such beautiful, bright flowers begin to look quite morbid to me.

“Not very bright now, is it?” he says glumly. There’s no question in his voice, it’s more rhetorical but I answer anyway.

“No.”

It starts slowly but builds fast. First, there’s a drop in my stomach, like its weighted down. It get heavier and begins to twist and burn. I clench my hands into fist trying to contain it, internalise it. My bones begin to buzz. Anger, fury, a burning, ugly rage. It’s hot, my throat thickens and tightens trying to contain it but the blistering burn won’t be contained.

“Are you honestly that disgusted by me? Am I that dirty, that _filthy_ that the slightest contact with me repulses you?” my words spit fire as I turn on him.

The shock is evident in his face, his eyes widen and his head pulls back. He has the audacity to look baffled.

I don’t give him a chance to respond, “Do you actually think that your blood status is anything more than a misinformed, oppressive, socially constructed crock of shit?” I seethe, “You’ve seen it, my blood. Tell me you bleed differently than me! You don’t, you bleed just the same. Warm, red and human. That’s all you are, a person. A pampered, insignificant, inconsequential person. Tell me that your better than me!” My chest heaves heavily and my throat feels raw but I can’t tell if it’s from the emotion or yelling at him.

His jaw sets and his eyes harden, “Don’t. Don’t you tell me what I think,” he steps closer, standing over me, “what I am or who I am.” His nostril flare but I don’t dare break eye contact with him.

Neither of us back down. Hated pouring out of one another, genuine hatred. I can feel it radiating off him as much as I feel myself expelling it.

“You think I’m a _mudblood._ You bring shame to the wizarding world. You are a small minded, irrelevant _coward.”_ I hiss the words at him, my temper simmering.

“For someone so irrelevant you sure have put a lot of thought into me haven’t to?” his head tilts not breaking eye contact. He sounds almost mistakably calm but I can see it; the same battle that I lost my temper to just moments ago, is raging inside him.

Without considering it I grab his hand. He recoils instantly, yanking his hand out of my grip wit such force that I stumble forward.

“See?” I point at him, not failing to notice his hand is pulled back, not quite in a striking position but not far from it, “it burns you to touch me.” I lean back and cross my arms. Point proven.

He pulls his hand back and I freeze. I know I should move, throw my hand up to protect myself but I just freeze and brace myself to take it. He throws his other hand up and brings the other one in front of himself to meet it. A noise escapes him, not quite a growl, not quite a yell and he throttles the air in front of him with his tensed hands.

“I don’t give a shit about your fucking blood! I don’t want to touch you because I don’t like you! Did you ever consider that?” a vein pulses in his forehead, spit coming from his mouth, “Did you ever consider that you are just that unlikable and infuriating that I don’t want to touch you? Everything you do, _everything,_ infuriates me!”

“Well maybe you need to work on being a bit less irritable. Lengthen that fuse a little” I long to relive the infamous punch from third year.

He scoffs, “that’s rich coming from you.”

“I thought you were the rich one?”

“Do you really want to play that card? I didn’t chose the family, I was born into and I won’t be ridiculed for it.” He turns away from me and begins walking off.

“Exactly! You didn’t choose what family you were born into so don’t hold mine against me!” I reel him back in.

He whips back around, stalking towards me, “Do you even hear yourself? You’re a walking fucking contradiction! You won’t listen to anything that doesn’t suit your narrative! If you want to be defined by your blood then that’s on you, stop projecting it on me!”

“I _am_ defined by my blood status! Its carved into my arm, everyone, _everyone_ will define me by it for the rest of my life because of it.” I unwrap the bandage, discarding it on the ground, “I’ve got a literal fucking sign on my body defining who I am!”

“You are such a victim aren’t you?” he narrows his eyes as me, labelling me all over again.

“You know _nothing about me!”_ how dare he minimise everything I’ve been through.

“And you think you know anything about me?” silence falls between us, an intense non-verbal battle starts up again between our hard stares.

I hate him. I despise him. Being in a close enough vicinity to even know he’s there is enough to make my entire being tense let alone being close enough to actually see how cold his grey eye are. He’s a spoilt, privileged prat and _I hate him._

“ _I hate you.”_ My words a slow, even and emphasised.

The side of his lip pulls up and he looks down at me, “It’s mutual.”

It’s my turn to let out a growl. I can’t stand the sight of him for a second longer. Swiftly, I turn around and walk away from him. I’m thankful when he doesn’t follow, not that I expected him to, or try to further out argument. I don’t have anything left in me.

I must have gotten fifteen yards from him when I catch a red light whizzing through the dusk air. Instinctively I drop to my knees, lowering myself below the line of the dead flowers. I stay there for a heartbeat before peaking my head up. Another red light shoots through the air but this time it narrowly misses me, fading out before it can come into contact with anything in the sparse field.

A white sparks fly in the opposite direction as the other spells, Malfoy shoots off an array of multiple white sparks at the source of the curses. I follow his direction, throwing one stupefy after the other above the flowers without looking.

“Stop playing with them and get them!” ice fills my veins as I recognise the familiar shrill of that voice. A quick glance at Malfoys face suggests he feels the same.

A few pairs of heavy, quick footsteps begin to draw closer. The familiar panic that comes with battle drenches me. I’m all too aware that I’m still weak and recovering, not in prime shape to battle.

I could try to apparate away. It’s a risk, I could easily splinch myself but I’d be willing to take the risk to escape capture again. I don’t think I’ll survive another capture. I glance over at Malfoy, he’s too far away. I look at him, hair a mess around his face, crouched to the ground like me and flinging curses from his wand at the oncoming attackers. There’s no question about it, no debate to be heard, the only way I’ll be leaving this field is with him.

I risk a look above the flowers, my focus honing in on one of the black cloaked figures that must be less than one hundred feet from us.

“Sectumsempra!” the spell leaves my lips before I register it.

A white light shoots from my wand, spearing across the field and hitting the target with true aim. I drop back to the ground, covering my mouth in shock at the spell I just cast. Never has using that spell crossed my mind. Draco spares me a wide eyed glance before rolling towards to avoid a crackling curse.

He’s still to far away. I make a move to shuffle towards him but throw myself back as an explosive spell lands between us.

“Granger!” Malfoy stretches his arm out towards me.

He gestures for me to go to him, pulling his head to the side. There’s still at least five feet between us. I look back up at the death eaters nearing in on us and throw another stupefy.

“Granger!” He calls out to me again. I meet his eyes and see the all too familiar look I’ve seen in so many of my friend eyes. Desperation and fear. He doesn’t want to be capture or die just as I don’t. His eyes say something more. _Trust me._

I inhale, throw one more spell in the direction of the death eaters and lunge at him, running towards him. Trusting him.

A flurry of spells leave his wand as I dash towards him.

“Protego!” His wand points in my direction, a curse shattering against the shield.

I dive landing just short of his hand. He lunges forward, desperately grabbing for my hand. We meet, grasping one another and he throws one last spell, a bright, blinding light that would make anyone cover their eyes fills the middle of the flower field turned battle field. And then we’re gone. My stomach flipping about as Malfoy jumps us to multiple locations before he settles and we both hit the ground with a solid thump.

Our eyes meet, both wide and utterly stunned at the unexpected duel that we just escaped.

“Holy shit,” his grey eyes bore into mine, “what the fuck was that?”

I wish I could’ve given him a cool answer that showed how well adapt I was to life on the run and being spontaneously attacked but a hardly manage I bewildered shake of my head. He looks down at his hands, turning them over to assess the small cuts and scrapes that mar them, probably from the dirt and stone one the ground. He makes a poor attempt at brushing the dirt off of his trousers before expelling a huff of breath and leaning back on his hands.

He looks are me again, “you hurt?”

I pat myself down, no new aches or pains reveal themselves, ‘No, nothing new,” I try to offer something of a smile but fail miserably.

“Does that happen often?” he raises a blonde brow at me.

I shake my head, “No, not really. Unless we go into a risky situation. Except for the snatchers, they found us because Harry accidently said _his_ name. The wards have kept us hidden though, snatchers have been nearby but never found the camp.” I offer up more than he was asking for.

“Potter? What an absolute-” he halts when I throw my hand up, motioning for him to shut it, “So how did they find us then?” he asks me a question that I wish I knew the answer too.

How did they find us? What could I have done to give it away? I know the answer to that, nothing. I did the same thing I’ve done every time we needed a new campsite for the last few months and it’s worked. So what was different this time? I glance at Malfoy, well that’s the obvious difference. It couldn’t be him though, it would be suicide for him to give away our location. Besides, something tells me that he wants to survive this war. It’s almost as if we were tracked, but how could they? I look at Malfoy again, this time looking him over.

“I had a feeling about that place. It looked so morbid, how could something bad not happen there?” the classic Malfoy tone fills his voice but my thoughts are on another page than his.

I move to him, kneeling next to him and he pushes himself off of his hands to sit up right, “What do you have on you?” I can feel the clock ticking. I need to figure this out quickly and my desperation is obvious.

“What?” confusion is clear in his face as he’s yet to catch on.

“Do you have anything special?” he shakes his head at me, still baffled, “A family heirloom maybe? A necklace or a brooch? Something you always keep on you probably.” My eyes scan over him franticly.

“What are you talking about Granger? I’ve never worn a brooch in my life,” he rolls his eyes at the idea, “I don’t have anything you can’t see. I left the manor with nothing but the clothes on my back,” he waves an arm over himself, “and my wand.”

The lightbulb goes off in my head. _His wand._ Without time to explain my thoughts to him I reach forward, snatching his wand out of his hand before he can react. I jump backward and get to my feet.

“What are you doing?” accusation is sharp in his tone and he follows me to his feet, “give me my wand!” he reaches his hand out and I pull back.

“They’re tracking you-”

He cuts off my explanation “With my wand? That’s absurd!”

“Then with what else? It’s the only thing that makes sense. We need to destroy it”

“No. Absolutely not, you can’t destroy my wand!”

I don’t waste any more time arguing and although it feels horribly wrong to do so I bring his wand between my both my hands and snap it. It’s surprisingly springy but snaps with enough pressure. Malfoys jaw drops, unable to comprehend the broken wand in my hands.

I throw them to the ground, “Incendio,” I point my own wand and the pieces and they light up brightly, the light of the flame filling the darkened sky.

The crackle of the fire hardly reaches my ears before the familiar pop of apparition sounds nearby.

“There! They’ve set a fire!” a yell echo’s through the landscape.

My reaction is fast this time, “We have to go” I hiss in a rush before grabbing his hand and apparating us away for what feels like the umpteenth time today before anyone has a chance to fire any curses at us.

Strong winds greet us as we land unsteadily on slippery pebbles. The sea crashes, landing in upon itself and my hair whips about my face. I look at Malfoy, he’s yet to react and seems to be trying to process his wand and yet another location.

I work fast this time, setting a perimeter and placing up wards. The deserted, pebbled beach begins to quieten as the wards set. I’m high alert. My head swivels around as I try to keep an eye on our surrounds whilst casting the wards. The absence of Harry and Ron hits me as I can’t help but compare doing this on my own to how much easier it was with the other two on the lookout.

With the wards set I walk back to Malfoy. His brow is pulled tight but he doesn’t leave me long to guess what it is that he’s thinking about.

“They were tracking us,” he looks at me. I nod despite what he said sounding more like a statement then a question. “They were tracking me. How?” He bring his hand to his face and his eye look off into the distance in thought.

“The only possibility I could think if was your wand,” I stammer a bit now, I genuinely do feel awful for destroying his wand.

“No, I get it. I don’t have anything else on me they could possible track but how?” I shake my head in response, its beyond me right now to theorise how it was done.

“If I’m correct, which I think I am, they shouldn’t be able to track us now, you saw how quickly they were on our tail. We’ve been here a good half an hour now and the beach is deserted,” I look around before adding, “not that we can let our guard down.”

I do question how it was that we went the entire time I was unconscious without being tracked but decide that’s a question I can ponder more on tomorrow. If we get through the night that is.

The topic is changed to me explaining how Ron, Harry and I would organise shifts to keep watch whilst the others sleeps. With only the two of us I decide that we alternate 5 hours each. Its longer than I’d like for either of us to try and stay alert and shorter than I would like for either of use to be able to sleep but it’ll have to do. Malfoy nods along, he’s surprisingly good at keeping his mouth shut and listening when he wants to.

“One problem,” he says when I’ve finished talking. I sigh, no more problems please. I’ve had enough problems for today. “I don’t have a wand to keep watch with,” he holds out his bare hands as if to show me before adding, “unless you forgot.” He doesn’t sound snarky but more so light heartedly sarcastic.

“I’ll give you…” the words catch in my throat, I give a little cough to clear it, “I’ll give you my wand.” It feels so wrong to offer my wand to someone other than Harry. It means leaving myself unprotected and vulnerable to Malfoy. It means I have to trust him. What choice do I have though?

He nods and looks as though he’s considering it though we both know his options are limited to one, “I’ll take the first watch,” he states.

I make an attempt to protest, not quite ready to surrender my trust to him again just yet.

“Granger, you still need to rest and recover,” he reasons with me, “I’ll set up the tent whilst you clean up your arm. Have something to eat and then get some rest.” He plans out the proceedings for the night and I concede to his plan.

“We’ll figure out what to do about a wand for you tomorrow,” I offer before adding, “I really didn’t want to destroy it.” He nods and I think I can see understanding in his expression.

“Get some rest Granger.” His back is to me now, my wand sits in his grasp looking out of place whilst he settles into a camp chair. _Trust him._ I force myself inside the tent to seek some rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter down! Thank you so much for the reviews and kind word so far! As always, I would love to read what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you everyone who has reviews and read so far, I really appreciate your feedback and the kind words. I’m sorry for the delay, I had some hefty assignments due. Here a nice long chapter to make up for the wait. Feel free to review!

The final two hours of my watch drag on painfully. The wards may dull the roaring noise of the wild ocean but the numbing, wet whip of the wind continues to lash at my skin. The shelter that the edge of the tent offers only does so much to protect me and casting a charm to repel the winds constant assault would only drain my energy. I settled for a classic muggle hot water bottle nestled in my lap to offer some warmth.

Malfoy had woken me at some time past three in the morning. His face was red and his hair had obviously been whipped about by the wind. I awoke to him peering at me from safe distance and he held a weary look as though unsure if I would lash out at the source of interruption to my slumber. It wasn’t until later that I realised he had let me sleep at least an hour more than the time we had agreed upon. 

I’d risen quickly after waking and rugged up to start my part of the watch. I called Malfoy back into the tent to change over shift. He casted a drying and heating charm over himself as he crossed the threshold of the tent and escaped the wet and cold. He didn’t hand me my want but opted to place it on a table top for me to pick up. Relief flooded through me, releasing my tense muscles just a bit as I felt the familiar weight of my wand in my hand. It never feels right to part with your wand but handing it over to Malfoy for hours was definitely a test if ever I’ve experienced one.

I wonder for a moment how my wand had felt in Malfoys hands. The groves and delicate patterns that form ridges and texture my wand is far from the smooth, cool wood that his had been. It feels so completely right in my grasp, the grooves seem have been carved for my grip. My wand sings for me, it is as though it turns on when I pick it up. I feel in sync with it, as though we are one. I wonder how it responded to Malfoy. I had held a few other wands in my years at Hogwarts. The handle of Harry’s wand felt chunky, though not uncomfortable. I remember it feeling reactive, cooperative though I didn’t feel the ebb and flow that I do with my own. Ron’s wand felt horrid in my grip, the weight of the bulbous end made it feel unsteady and I could almost hear it telling me to put it down. Ginny’s wand was absolutely beautiful, a dark wood with intricate symmetrical carvings. I remember feeling somewhat jealous that such a beautiful wand didn’t choose me, not that mine is not beautiful but Ginny’s wand is so simple yet elegant. It had felt good in my grasp but like Harrys wand, it just wasn’t mine. I never held Parvati or Lavender’s wand but found them both uninspiring. Parvati’s looked awkward and uncomfortable to hold and Lavender’s was a bland, boring, polished stick. I remember Luna’s wand vividly, it’s funny little carvings look a bit plain for her. I never held it and nor did I ever really care to. Although its carvings were unusual it looked quite bland and plain to me yet Luna swirled it so whimsically.

The thought of Luna floods me with guilt. I haven’t thought of her since being bought to the manor. Whimsical, gentle, Luna. I can only hope that she is ok, that she didn’t have to go through the torture that I did. If she is alive, I wish and pray to whatever may be that her beautiful spirit is still intact. I hope they don’t break her.

The rustle of the tents opening draws my attention. Malfoy emerges, cleanly dressed and looking somewhat put together, though the dark circles under his eyes and the translucency of his skin give away the stress and tiredness that I still haven’t gotten use to. I can’t help but compare him to Ron who would emerge from the tent, shirt on backwards and inside out, mouth spread wide in a yawn that he never bothered covering with his hand and groggy tired eyes squinting into the daylight.

“Morning.” His voice gives away the fact that he hasn’t been awake long. He seems polite but I can see the hardness in his eyes as he looks around. He’s on high alert, something that the boys and I had maybe slipped up on a bit too much after so much time on the run.

“Morning,” I look up at him and we make brief eye contact before we both return our focus to scanning the terrain. It doesn’t feel as awkward as I though it would. Looking at him is shocking, I still almost expect to see Ron’s tall, bulky frame and red hair or Harry’s lopsided glasses and tired smile. It startles me how almost comfortable this feels. Key word being almost. Maybe it’s because I’m the one with the wand.

“Here.” He holds out a bowl of porridge, I can smell the honey and cinnamon coming from it and wish we had some apples to top it off. Who knew apples would ever be a luxury? “I found the oats in the cupboard, I uh…” he searches for his words, “I didn’t mean to snoop.” He pulls away when I take the bowl from him and takes a seat in the over camp chair, a comfortable distance away with his own bowl of steaming porridge.

I snort in response before I can hold it back. His eyes slowly slide to meet mine, an unsure look seems to ask me to elaborate on my snort.

“There’s nothing to hide in the tent,” I explain, “I guess it’s your tent too now so snoop away.” Harry and I had agreed to burn anything we had written on that could have suggested we knew of the horcruxes after barely escaping the Lovegood’s.

I eat a spoonful of the porridge, it warms my soul. “This is really nice, much better than Ron’s attempts,” I add, instantly I feel guilt for not only comparing him to Ron but putting Ron down.

“I’ve made a porridge or two in my time,” I sense I hint of jest in his voice, making light of the compliment but a slight glint in his eye suggest I may have just pumped a little air into his tires.

He eats rigidly. Back straight and elbows close to his side. I can hear my Great Aunt Eliza’s voice, _no elbows on the table!_ Her harsh crow would always startle me, making my younger self’s eyes widen, elbows shoot to my side and head duck to avoid her seething stare. Never did I miss my father subtly slide his elbows from the table whilst she harped at me about manners and etiquette. I wonder if Malfoy shares similar memories.

“I uh-“ he clears his throat giving himself a moment to rearrange his thoughts, “Tensions were high yesterday. I thought it would be good to share a warm meal,” he doesn’t look at me but nods and stares intently at his porridge before eating another rigid mouthful. 

I observe him for a moment, full well knowing he can feel my stare. I think he might have just apologised to me with porridge. I eat another mouthful of my porridge, it tastes even better now.

I’m no stranger to men that struggle with apologies. Ron would go red in the face, choking on the words before he spat them out, if he ever actually did. Harry is just so stubborn, the twat would argue his reasoning for days sometimes if he was wrong before he came around. Fred and George would tell me it was just and joke and to _cheer up love._ Goodness what a would do to spend a few minutes with those pranksters right now. Neville was the opposite, he apologised to much. Neville use to apologise for making eye contact but it’s been a joy to watch his confidence grow over the past two years, what a great person he has become. It was always inside him, he just needed a bit of confidence. The potential that boy has is so overlooked, what a herbologist he will make one day. I pause at the thought, who knows who will _make_ anything unless we win this war.

A deep breath offers me composure, I need to move forward with the mission. I glance at Malfoy, maybe _we_ need to move forward.

“Thanks,” I took my time to respond after getting lost in my thoughts of my friend, “porridge is perfect in this weather.” I elaborate on what I’m thanking him for. He simply nods in acknowledgement.

I think I accept his apology. I’m not sure if I should offer one or if I have to. I’m not sure if he had to, as he said, the tensions were high, we were both under pressure and in a new, completely unexpected situation. In this moment though, I think this could work out alright.

“You need a wand.” I state the obvious, not wasting time on small talk.

“I do,” his response is short but not rude.

“I thought about it a bit,” it had plagued my thoughts during my watch. How, where could we safely get a wand?

“Any grand ideas?” it seems nonchalant but I don’t buy it, he’s itching to get himself a wand.

“Well…” I pause, trying to come up with a last second idea, “no.”

He sighs.

“It’s not like we can waltz in Olivander’s and ask for a new wand.” I think out loud, crossing options off of my mental list that I had made whilst on watch.

“No one can.” His words shatter my train of thought.

“What do you mean?” I lean forward, not quite getting what he just said.

He swallows his food first, “We took him,” he seems to wince slightly, “they took him.” He corrects himself.

“Well, where is he?” it’s sad to learn that Olivander, a man who has been a part of so many witches and wizards lives has been captured.

“He was at the manor when I left,” the unspoken words of the circumstances of which he left hang in the air for a moment.

“So what happened to his shop?” it’s a wild idea but it could work.

“They probably trashed it, could be burnt to the ground for all I know.” He shrugs, not as though he’s shrugging off what has happened but rather gesturing his lack of knowledge.

I take a deep breath, pursing my lips in thought. I release my breath, opening my mouth and furrow my brow.

“It would be a risk.” His voice is serious as he responds to my unspoken words. He must be thinking the same thing, “It could be a pile of ashes.”

“It could be,” I agree with him, “Or it could’ve been trashed. There might be some wands still there.” I reason with him.

“What if the place is jinxed? Don’t underestimate how horrifically creative they are,” he offers something to consider.

“We can handle that,” I feel relatively confident that I can handle a jinx and if I can’t disarm it that we can just leave, no worse than we arrived. “Would the building be watched?” I ask him.

His mouth twists in thought and a hand runs through his light locks, “I doubt it. There will be people around Diagon Alley for sure but I don’t think they would be watching the building in particular.” He runs his fingers back and forth over his lips before he continues, “I can’t say for sure though, I wasn’t involved in any of that mission. I just know he was at the Manor.”

“Do you think it’s worth the risk?” I value his opinion on this.

“If we go in and out,” He nods at his own words, “no distractions. We apparate as close to the building as possible, it’s not far from Gringotts and there will be eyes all over that place.” He lays out the rules.

“We can apparate behind the second-hand robe shop. It’s a shop over from Olivander’s and there’s a small alley behind them.” I don’t add how I know this. Ron had always struggled with wearing second-hand everything and would enter the shop by the back entry to avoid being spotted. It always dulled Molly’s eyes just a touch, though she would never say anything.

Malfoy chews on his lip, looking to the side for a moment, “ok,” he agrees, “We stay close, and if anything goes wrong we meet back here.” I doesn’t pass me by that he just told me he wants to stick together but I don’t comment on it and opt for what seems to be out favourite form of communication, a nod.

“Tonight,” he rubs his hands together, the bowl now at his feet, “let’s get it over and done with. As soon as it’s dark.”

I can’t say there is much to the plan. Would death eaters leave wands behind? I know the store won’t be in pristine condition. Death eaters love destruction, pointless violence. One wand is all that we need to scavenge, anything is better than nothing. Unless it hates Malfoy, not that it’s a very hard feeling to harbour towards him.

Night approached slowly. The tension and anxiety inducing anticipation of executing a plan like this makes seconds tick by painfully. I passed the time by reading in the camp chair, a simple charm keeping the wet wind from dampening my pages. Malfoy’s way to pass the time almost had me falling out of my chair. An awkward conversation about his lack of clothing options lead to me pulling out some of the clothes that I had in my bag for Ron and Harry. I kept Harry’s quidditch jersey and Ron’s sweater his mother had knitted him tucked away in the bag, I need something of theirs. Malfoy had done quite well at keeping his face even and being handed clothes belonging to Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.

I offered him my wand before he had to ask so that he could alter the clothes to his liking. Having shared a class room with him for the past 6 years has made me well aware that Malfoy is, as much as I would never telling him, very skilled with magic. He transfigured the clothes with ease into a pair of track pants and a long sleeve shirt whilst also turning his dress shoes into a more appropriate shoes for being on the run. As subtle as he tried to be, I didn’t miss the quiet _scourgify_ he cast over the clothes.

As if him wearing casual clothes wasn’t enough of a shock to my system he then began running. He ran that many laps of the wards that I was dizzy just thinking about it. I tried my best not to stare, to observe, but when his back was to me I couldn’t help but steal a glance. He’s quite lean but I suspect under those clothes he may have some muscle. His hair whipped around, seemingly not bothering him as he kept a steady pace. I’ve never been much a runner. I don’t mind a good sprint, its quite exhilarating actually, but ask me to run a distance and there better be a death eater on my six or I won’t get very far. That said, it was nice to see Malfoy doing something that was so casual, so muggle.

He’d walked past me into the tent, chest puffing as he drew in air but he kept his composure. A moment later he emerged from the tent, rugged up and with a book in hand, it only took me a moment to recognise one of the books I had packed in his hand. An advanced book on potions. He’d always trumped me in potions. Part of me wanted to yank it out of his hands, to not let him get any better than he already was at the subject. The old class room rivalry between us, always unspoken, reared its ugly head. I shook it off and went back to my own book, a herbology tomb on where and how to identify and forage ingredient. The rest of the day passed in mutual silence as we read.

Malfoy pulls me from my reflection by standing in my line of sight. I look at him and square my shoulders, this is it. He does the same, rolling back his shoulders and taking in a deep breath before grasping my hand. I wonder if he was preparing himself for the unknown that we are about to apparate into or to take my hand. He doesn’t flinch this time. Baby steps.

We arrive with a resounding pop, steady on our feet. Together we drop to a low crouch and move to the nearby wall. The darkness hangs low and makes it hard to see. There’s no lights in the back alley. In sync we seem to hold our breath and listen. There’s no sound.

I make eye contact with Malfoy, his hair has been disguised a dark brown, it really doesn’t suit him but he would glow under the moon light if we hadn’t changed it. The low light is just enough to make out his expression. His face is set hard, the focus in his eyes is unbreakable, I trust him. 

Pointing my wand and our feet I cast a spell to muffle our steps, it wouldn’t do good to have the noise of the stones and dirt under our steps alerting anyone to our presence. I nod in the direction of Olivander’s, letting him know where we are going. He looks in the direction of the shop, it’s not far away, maybe fifteen yards. He sinks further back against the cold brick wall so I can shift past him to lead us with my wand. Only when our hands separate so that I can pass him do I realise the tight grasp we had on each other.

I move in the direction of the shop, it’s not far. An odd sensation flutters in my chest as I make out the still standing building, hope. Malfoy follows my lead quietly, I can hear the tightness in his careful breaths.

We come up to the building, a heavy, dark, wooden door sits plush with the old brick of the walls. I look back, Malfoy nods at me in confirmation to continue with our plan. Our plan, that in this very moment I realise may not have been in depth enough. I lift a wand to the door, a spell on my lips. If this door doesn’t open what do I do? I could blast it down but we’d have death eaters on us in seconds. This moment is make it or break it.

“Alohomora.” I whisper at the old lock on the door. It clicks. We both let out a sigh, one that I didn’t know I was holding.

Draco brushes past me, taking my wand from the grasp as planned. We had agreed earlier that he may be better adapt to identifying any curses or jinxes left behind. I lean my body up against the heavy door and push my weight against it. It inches open but falls back closed as my momentum is lost. The door mustn’t have been opened in years. Not only is it awfully heavy but I can feel the resistance coming for the hinges that I can only imagine are coated in rust.

I take a second to swallow the panic rising in me and ready myself once again. I lean back and throw my weight forward. The door inches open further than it did the first time, pausing for a moment to fight back before it gives way and swings further open.

Malfoy doesn’t miss a beat. He strides forward with a purpose and steps just beyond the threshold of the building. A spell I don’t recognise leaves his lips as he eloquently manoeuvres my wand in broad strokes. His body turns in both directions with my wand stretched out, almost as though it’s a radar.

He looks back at me after a tense moment. He lowers my wand, handing it back to me. He offers a few quick, short nods and I can see the corners of his mouth pull up ever so slightly. I feel it flow from him and though me, hope.

Once again putting my trust in Malfoy we step into the building together. Despite his spell revealing no jinxes or curses we move tensely. Our breath disrupts the eerie stillness and silence in the shop.

We enter a hallway, quickly I note two jarred doors to the left of the hallway and a closed door are the top of a set of steps that must enter out onto the shop floor. The air is dusty and the tall walls are stained, cracked paint speckles the floor. It doesn’t look completely destroyed like I had expected.

“First door,” Malfoys voice is hardly even a whisper as he moves close behind me and leans his arm over me to push the door open.

The loud creak of the door send shockwaves up through me. My body freezes. Malfoy responds the same, not even willing to pull him arm back from its place leaning over my shoulder. I readjust my grip on my wand, waiting for someone to pop out from somewhere after hearing the terrifying whine of the door.

After a long moment and no one jumping out at us, Malfoy slowly withdraws him arms and places his other hand ever so briefly on my middle back, directing me into the room.

“Lumos maxima,” I flick my wand forward into the room, the utter darkness that was in the room give me little choice. Careful to not over do the spell, I don’t want to blind us. If only Malfoy had his wand a simple, dim _lumos_ from the tip of both our wands would have done the trick but then again, if he had his wand we wouldn’t be here. The light allows us to move apart from one another and search the room faster.

The lack of destruction in the hallway had given me a false sense of hope that the rest of the building would be easy to make our way through. The first room, obviously a bedroom with a small attached bathroom is in shambles. A small bed frame is in pieces, the mattress is thrown against the wall and has been torn open, its fluffy filling littering the floor. My eyes move to the dresser, similarly to the bed frame it’s no longer much of a dresser. Clothes have been tossed from it and the drawers are no longer in the frame but discarded around the room.

As Malfoy begins to move around the room, searching through the rubble, I move to the bathroom, it’s door wide open. This time the mess doesn’t surprise me. Shattered porcelain litters the floor and the sink is no longer. A small shower and tub is charred black, as are the tiles on the wall. I can make out something that’s been burned in the tub, maybe a fabric of some sort but I can’t decipher what. There isn’t much to search though in the bathroom. I lift anything from the floor and pull at the mirror to see if it will detach but the lack of anything of value let alone a wand dampens my hope.

“Nothing.” I turn at his voice, surprised at how close he is. He stands in the doorway of the bathroom, waiting for me to come to the same conclusion at he has. I long for him to relax, to lean an arm against the frame of the door and offer me permission to drop my shoulders just a little. But he doesn’t. He’s tired, stressed and tense just as I am.

I fight the urge to search the room that he has just cleared, to take control and make sure everything is done my way. If I haven’t searched in myself how can I be sure that every nook and cranny has been checked? _Control freak._ The words that have so been said to me so many times whether in jest or with malice still sting and turn my face hot.

“Let’s check the other room,” I try to filter the desperation from my voice as I feel it creep up my body. We need to find something.

I flick my wand behind myself to extinguish the light as we exit the room and make our way down the hallway. Just as we did before, Malfoy leans over me, his arm outreached as he pushes the door open whilst my wand is at the ready. He’s more careful this time, the hinges whine but not like they had with the first room.

Light fills the room as I cast it from my wand. Again, the room is a mess. The sight fills me with sorrow yet sparks a sense of excitement and intrigue in me. A turned over desk, similar to the silversmith desk that my grandfather had so often sat behind is turned on its side. All shapes and sizes of knives and what look like carving tools litter the floor, I imagine the immaculate placing that they could have been in before the room was carelessly rummaged through. Against the far wall is a contraption of sorts, similar to a coat hanger that one would mount on the wall however this one holds long strands of what I can only assume are the delicate cores that would fill a wand. This room is a workshop. The excitement I feel can only be explained by my intense desire to learn, how I would love to watch Olivander make his wands and be able to ask as many questions as I please. If I had my life many times over I could see wand law and crafting being something that I peruse, if only I had more years to explore everything. 

Malfoy makes quick work, shifting through boxes and their contents that have been empties on the floor. I leave my day dream and follow his lead. Books litter the floor, how I wish I could nestle up in a cosy corner and read one of these books until Molly sends one of her children to fetch me for dinner or my mother bring me a tea and encourages me to stretch my legs.

The bookshelf is upright yet most books have been pulled from its shelves and discarded on the floor. I itch to put them back in alphabetical order. No, by year of publication. No, sorted by topic and then by alphabetical order. I shake the thought and search the shelves from top to bottom. It’s a ceiling to floor bookshelf, explaining why it’s still upright.

I tap my hands against the shelve feeling for something, anything. I get to the bottom shelf, my hope for this room slowly fading. A hollow sound resinating from my tapping hands gives me pause. I ball my hand and rap my knuckles against the bottom shelf, the noise echoes out. I gasp and flatten my hands against the shelf feeling for a hinge or a gap in the wood.

“What is it?” Malfoy is kneeling next to me again, I can hear the promise in his voice.

“It’s hollow” I tell him, “feel it.” I knock again on the wood.

Malfoy mimics my actions, his body straightens as he recognised the hollow sound of the knock. He flattens his hands just as I had, smoothing them over the shelf, trying to find and opening.

“I can’t figure out how to open it,” I’m about ready to pull my hair out and my tone doesn’t hide it. I check the side of the bookshelf but only find smooth wood.

“Here!” Malfoy is down on his elbows, looking up at me with his mouth hanging open.

He reaches forward, his hand shaking as it lands on mine. He pulls my hand towards him and I shift forward. Under his guidance my hand falls below the shelf to a wooden board connecting the bookshelf to the floor that the bottom shelf hangs over. My fingers brush over a hole that feels as though it had been drilled into the board, hidden by the overhang. I gasp a second time as I am able to hook my finger into the hole.

“Open it,” he pulls his hand from mine and shuffles back ever so slightly to give me space but still hovers closely.

I pull at the wood. It slides open with little resistance, a hidden drawer. I look back at Malfoy, unable to help but share a smile with him. A laugh of relief escapes me. He takes the ledge of the drawer and pulls it open completely.

The sight that greets me makes me shake. Two wand boxes. I snatch them up as though they could disappear if I don’t get a hold of them right now. My hands shake uncontrollably, the nerves making me almost drop the boxes. I hand one to Malfoy. Both the boxes are simple, black cardboard with a generic looking embossed pattern.

I look at Malfoy. The box lays in one hand, the other hovering over the lid and his fingers seems to almost dance with anticipation. We look at one another, waiting for the other to open their box first. I grasp the edges of the lid and he does the same. Slowly, I shimmy the tight lid from the box and look at its contents. A light coloured wand stands out starkly against the black box. I stare at it, awe filling me. We did it. I mean, there was some hope there to start with but we actually found a wand. I look back to Malfoy and the box in his hands. _Two wands._ Another light coloured wand lays in the box in his grasp.

A laugh escapes me again as a smile cracks on Malfoys lips. I was to hug him, to grasp his skin under my hands and know that this is real. I want him to take me by my shoulders and shake me to prove this is reality. I want to spring to my feet and throw my arms over his shoulders and push him back so that he has to gain his balance before he can wrap is arms around me. I want his warmth to ground me and his touch to elevate me. I want this to be real.

Almost in sync we both seem to push down our excitement and remember where we are. We had agreed before coming here that we would collect as many wands as we could, if any. It would be too risky for him to trial the wands in the store, not only do we want to be as quick as we can but if a wand doesn’t agree with him it could cause a deadly racket.

“There’s only the desk left.” He motions to the desk with his hand.

I raise my wand, levitating the desk to sit it upright once more. The middle of the desk is curved, allowing the wand maker to sit comfortably with access to all corners or the desk. Tall drawers sit on top of the desk and a another row lines the side. Malfoy moves forward and beings shuffling through the draws.

“I’ve seen one of these before, in the room if requirement,” he pauses his search to look at me, a slight smirk gracing his lips, “Olivander must have a thing for hidden compartments,” his hand knowingly lands on a long but thin drawer at the top of the stack of drawers.

He pulls it open and I peer in. Nothing. I can’t help but feel embarrassed for his arrogance being proven wrong. I glance at him, raising an eyebrow but his smirk stays true. He reaches into the draw, and I bend down to peer at what he is doing. His fingers quickly find a piece of wood that that is attached to the back of the drawer by a screw, it hits the frame of the drawers. He twists it, releasing it from the frame and pulls the drawer further out. Another box.

This time my eyes aren’t fixated on the box, though I do notice that it’s the same colour and texture as the other ones, this time my eyes are trained on his hands. I’m assessing them. They’re smooth yet squared and masculine. They’re long and almost nimble looking yet they appear strong, firm. His light skin stretches smoothly over bone and muscle and his nails a short but not chewed at.

“That’s three,” he hands me the box to slip into my bag, “we said we’d look around the entire shop, do you still want to?” he puts the decision in my hands.

It takes a second to redirect my thoughts. We know that being in the shop front puts us at further risk if being spotted but who knows, all the wands we have could loath Malfoy.

I nod, “let’s stick to the plan.”

Again, I find myself in the dingy hallway, this time making my way towards the stairs. They squeal and moan under the weight of my steps. It’s as though I can feel spiders scuttling up my skin at each protest from the old stairs.

Lightly, I grasp the brass door knob. It turns. The doors swings open easily and surprisingly silently. I move onto the staircase, allowing Malfoy to enter the shop front. Lights from the street offer enough visibility to make out the room and its contents. It’s rubble. As if a _reducto_ has been cast over the shop front.

“Let’s be quick,” Malfoy speaks from behind me, “the sooner we leave the better.”

I agree with him and scuttle down the stairs to start our final search. I sort through splinters of what I assume is either ruminants from the tall shelves or wands, or both. I make quick work sorting through the rubble as I make my way to the front of the shop. The beautiful rounded, glass windows offer a view of the street.

I long for the care-free memories of waltzing down the street, window shopping for robes I could never afford and spending far too long in Flourish and Blotts whilst every Weasley and Harry look at quidditch gear. I miss the smell of a newly opened book and the feel of the rough spines of them under my finger as I scan every title. I miss the quill testing station and sorting through the stacks of parchment paper. I can almost see myself walking down the stone street, almost skipping towards the book store.

The sound of scuffling foot-steps steal my breath from my lungs. I dare, foolishly, to peak out of the glass window but I can’t spot the source of the noise.

“Malfoy,” I hiss behind myself, not daring to turn my back to the window, “there is someone out there.”

I can hear his careful footsteps rush towards me. He’s crouched next to me, his breath slow and steady. I try to match it.

He peaks out the window, ‘I don’t see anyone.”

“I heard it,” I try not to take his dis-belief personally.

“We need to leave then,” I stand taller in my crouch, ignoring his whisper in an attempt to catch a sight of someone to prove I’m right, “ _now.”_

I feel his firm grasp on my elbow just as a figure comes into sight, spotlighted by the moon. Flaming red hair swirls from my sight as Malfoy apparates us away. _Fred._

“Fred!” I yell at the waves crashing against the pebbled beach. I turn to Malfoy, his blond hair betraying the red that I so desperately want to see, “That was Fred!” I scream at him, my eyes are wide open and my fingers feel rigid with shock.

Malfoy is quick to grasp his bearings, both his hands are firm on my arms, holding me in place, maybe holding me up.

“I need to go back,” I beg him, pleading that he understand.

He shakes his head, salty water that the wind sprays at us is already dripping from his chin, “it’s too dangerous.”

“No…” I look around us wildly, my focus not landing on any solution “No!”

The image of the rounded, glass windows fills my mind and I pull myself back into the shop, apparating away from the beach. A tight, chocking pressure takes hold of my body. I fight it, throwing my shoulders around but my arms are pinned and I lose the battle. The image of the bookstore shatters.

The violent, wet wind against my face lets me know the hard surface under my kneeling form is the pebbles of the beach. I look around, what just happened? Only when I try to move my arms do I notice that they are trapped under Malfoys.

“No,” a sob rises from my throat. He could know. Fred could know if they’re alive. Fred could take me back.

I throw my weight away from Malfoy trying to break from him. He holds strong, grunting when the back of my head connects with his jaw but his grip doesn’t falter.

Desperately, I pull the fragments of the store front back together in my mind and throw my body into the wand store once again. My gut twists at the sickening sensation of apparition. The tightness returns and I feel it pulling me away from the store. Desperation fuels me. I throw my head back into his jaw again and pull an arm from his grasp, I can feel the book store nearing again. My feet are moments from meeting the wooden floors when he reclaims his grasp on me. His arms hold tight, pushing the air from my lungs and I’m yanked away from the store.

My body buckles when we land, the deafening waves assaulting my ears make it painfully obvious where I am. Not with Fred. My knees crack against the hard pebbles and my body slumps to the side. I throw and elbow out, saving my face from an unwelcome meeting with the rocks. The arms around me loosen, sliding away and disappearing. I take a second to breath freely.

A short gasp in my ear has me turning around so fast that my head spins. Blond hair is splayed on the rocks, bright red slowly creeping into it. Malfoy gasps again, it’s short and strained. Red runs with the water down his cheek, covering his ear and soaking the collar of his shirt. My finger are near numb from the cold but I reach for him with violently shaking hands. Wide eyes boar into mine, pleading with me for help.

I reach for the side of his face trying to find the source of his bleeding. Blood coats my hands quickly and I push his hair from his eyes, dragging the red further through it. Pale lids hide his grey eyes and his body trebles under my touch as he continues to fight for breath. I begin to come apart as he struggles underneath me. Guilt crushes me as his hair continues to take on the colour of his blood. Only moments ago had I wished for red hair in front of me. Cruel, twisted world, this is not what I meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N – There it is. I hope you liked it and as always, feel free to review!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. I’m hope for weekly or fortnightly updates. Would love to read what you think so far.


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